Alternate History
by Ormhaxan
Summary: Snape's years as a student were not generally enjoyable. Sometimes, though, all it takes is a fortuitous set of circumstances to set things on a different path. McGonagall-Snape mentor relationship, SSLE. AU, of course.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or the characters therein. This is written strictly for fun and in no way for profit. This disclaimer applies to all chapters of this story.

**Alternate History**

**Chapter One**

It was a bright fall day near the beginning of term, summer's last breath, and she could not stand to grade one single essay more at the moment. Contrary to popular belief, one's faculty for enjoying a beautiful day did not automatically shrivel up into a raisin-sized lump lodged in the lizard brain at the age of fifty. At least hers hadn't, so far. So Minerva set the fourth year homework aside and left by the back door of her office, descending the twisting private stair that led (most of the time) to the tower's exit. Perhaps she had overestimated her enjoyment faculty's un-shriveled state, for she felt a pang of the incongruous half-hearted guilt of playing hooky as she opened the door to the grounds. She sniffed to herself. _Really, Minerva. At the fifty-six, one is perfectly entitled to some fresh air. A turn about the grounds will do you good._

It would be a short turn in any case – though the air was still warm, dusk was closing fast, dyeing all the shadows deeper and casting the few faint shafts of light remaining orange. The Whomping Willow, ahead and to her left, was limned in silhouette by the glow, its spindly branches like finger bones grasping at the sky. The sun would be completely gone within the half hour – she'd already seen Remus off to the Shrieking Shack some while ago. The poor boy didn't like to take chances. Not that she blamed him in the slightest.

She struck off toward the lake at a brisk pace. Perhaps if she were lucky, the exercise might fortify her enough to finish grading those essays. When she had reached the point at which her shoes began to squelch mutinously, she turned to to parallel the shore. Once, she thought she caught a glimpse of the squid, but he was less active at night. (When asked whether the squid slept at night, Hagrid had posited that it did no such thing but instead went down "to th' deeps, like" to hunt. It had given rise to much unsettling speculation among the students about what the squid could possibly be hunting.)

She had made perhaps a quarter of a circuit of the lake engrossed in thoughts about the upcoming sixth year projects and the first year lesson plans before she nearly tripped over a rock in the dark and abruptly realized that the sun had set some minutes ago. Chagrined at having lost track of the time, she turned on her heel and headed briskly back, feeling much more equal to the task ahead of her.

The only warning was a sudden, rapid thudding of footsteps to her right, alarmingly close at hand. She had gotten as far as a half turn and hand set on her wand to neutralize whatever student mischief might be afoot when something shot blindly through the hedge and crashed heavily into her side. "Shite," muttered a breathless, faintly hysterical-sounding voice somewhere slightly below the level of her shoulder. In the brief confusion that followed, Minerva managed to land a firm grip on the miscreant's collar. "Young man, I very much hope you have a good explanation forthcoming." There was no immediate response, just another series of ragged, wheezing breaths. Minerva hissed between her teeth and frog-marched him over to the square of light shed by a high-up castle window.

Upon getting a good look at her assailant, she became immediately concerned. "Mr. Snape? Whatever is the matter?" Pale and breathing hard, his dark eyes were ringed in white, like a horse about to bolt. She knew Snape as a quiet, studious Slytherin in her fifth-year Transfiguration class, best recognized within Gryffindor as the Potter gang's favored target. He'd always seemed a steady sort, not readily panicked. Indeed, after years of association with the Marauders, his ability not to panic had to be nothing short of iron-clad.

Snape said nothing, but his eyes darted to a point over her shoulder, and she heard the approach of another series of footfalls.

"Damnit, Prongs, now we've lost him. He's going to rat on us the moment he finds a prof."

"Shut _up_, Padfoot. I can't believe you did that."

"What? It was just a prank. And you should have seen his face when he came running out of there..." The speaker's voice degenerated into snorting laughter, and she felt Snape tense up.

"He could have been killed! What the hell were you planning on saying to Remus in the morning? 'Sorry, I let you eat Snivellus?'"

Minerva felt the blood drain from her face and stepped hastily forward.

"Mr. Black and Mr. Potter. I might have known." The shadows froze and pivoted toward her, revealing the horror-struck faces of Gryffindor's finest. "I believe a trip to the Headmaster's office is in order. This _instant_, Mr. Black. Get moving."

* * *

Listening to Albus' shamelessly ill-conceived judgement of the trio left Minerva no less furious. She had had to bite her tongue at several points to keep from openly disputing the Headmaster's judgement in front of the students. She was aware of Albus' fondness for Potter and Company and his well-founded concerns regarding Black's background and home life. She had no little share of fondness for Potter and Company and concern for Black herself. But she found herself utterly appalled at Albus' lack of consideration for Snape, and she was resolved that she would have words with the Headmaster at the earliest possible opportunity.

She eyed the trio of sullen teenagers who had followed her out of the office. For now, she would fix what she could.

"Mr. Black and Mr. Potter, I am extremely disappointed. It has been years since I was so ashamed of my House. Fifty points from Gryffindor, Mr. Black. You are both banned from all Quidditch practice and matches, effective immediately. If I catch either of you so much as out past curfew this year, you will be extremely sorry for it. Is that clear?"

"Yes Professor."

"It had better be. Dismissed."

She waited until the two were safely past a corner and out of earshot before addressing Snape, using the brief pause to covertly look him over. He was presently staring fixedly after Black and Potter, lips pressed whitely together. The panicky expression he'd worn before had given way to a focused, tightly controlled mien Minerva judged to be the edge of a dangerous temper. Though he seemed much more in command of himself, he was still worryingly pale, and bore the hint of what might be a shocky tremor.

"Mr. Snape."

He seemed to snap out of whatever vengeful reverie he'd been engaged in and turned to face her.

"Professor?"

"It seems I owe you an apology – both personally and on behalf of my House. A prank of that nature should never have occurred. The fact that it did speaks of a serious lack of respect on the part Messrs. Potter and Black and of a lack of vigilance on the part of their professors."

Snape blinked and she thought she caught a brief, subtle startled expression cross his face. It faded quickly from view, but she had the sense that she was receiving his full attention.

"You have my word that those boys, and particularly Mr. Black, will be under close scrutiny from now on, and that further infarctions will be punished severely."

Snape was still regarding her with that serious, wary expression, and on impulse she inserted an addendum to her speech.

"Mr. Snape, if you have any further difficulties this year, of any sort, related to them or not, you are always welcome to talk to me. My office hours are posted on my door and in the Transfiguration classroom, but if I'm not teaching I'm usually in."

That gained her a much plainer look of surprise. She doubted Snape would take advantage of her offer – four school years of keeping to oneself and suffering in silence didn't just up and die – but hopefully it at least gave him an emergency escape of sorts. The thought coiled in the back of her mind that the dangerous political tensions of the past few years had escalated badly this summer, and that Slytherin House might shortly become uncomfortable for a half-blood like Snape.

She cleared her throat and returned to the original course of her speech. "Now, off with you to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey will likely want you to stay the night for observation. You are, of course, excused from classes tomorrow."

Snape nodded. "Yes, Professor." A second of hesitation. "Thank you."

* * *

**AN:** Hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I did writing it. I've always liked mentor stories, and this seemed like a different take.

This story is currently looking for a beta reader, mostly for characterization/plothole-checking and to prevent me from getting too verbose. If you're interested, please drop me a line.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Minerva's discussion with Albus regarding his discipline of the Shrieking Shack incident came to naught.

"My dear," he'd said, blinking mildly over the top of his reading glasses, "I do understand your concern, but I fear I had little choice in treating the matter as I did. It would be disastrous for Remus if this should ever become public knowledge."

"I don't dispute the need for discretion, Albus. But Black deserves suspension at the very least! Snape could easily have been killed or infected."

"It was certainly very thoughtless on his part. But I don't believe he truly intended serious harm." Albus sighed. "I do worry about him, Minerva. Have you ever met his mother? Most unpleasant woman. Firecalls me at least once a month to harangue me over her children's grades. I doubt young Sirius has a pleasant home life." He paused a breath before saying, quietly but emphatically, "I should hate to remove him from a place he may consider a refuge."

And that had been that. She couldn't dispute the Headmaster's motives, but in recalling the exchange afterwards, she had been disturbed at how easily Snape's name had dropped out of the discussion. Her original goal had been to address how unfair Albus' judgement had been to him, and yet it had taken virtually no time at all for the conversation to focus on Black. So, in a small act of defiance, Minerva began to pay close attention to Severus Snape.

She had never taken much notice of him before, as he was not of her House and his classroom presence was unremarkable. She could not recall him ever volunteering an answer in her class, though he responded readily (and usually correctly) when called on. His essays and homework assignments were dense affairs written in a cramped hand, which displayed a solid – sometimes even a precocious – understanding of magical theory along with an occasional glibness of phrase that bordered on the sarcastic. (With Slytherins, it was sometimes hard to tell.) His practical classwork was usually competently executed, but nothing flashy. All in all, she had marked him down as a bright, quiet pupil who was unlikely to need extra attention.

Discrete inquiries revealed a similar profile in other classes, with the glaring exception of Potions. She had been startled to learn that Snape had been granted limited unsupervised access to the lab since late in his second year. She had been nearly positive that there was a rule against letting minors experiment with dangerous magical ingredients without adult supervision, but careful inspection of the faculty handbook revealed nothing specifically forbidding Snape's use of the laboratory. Horace Slughorn, when questioned, had been, as usual, affable and slippery.

"Snape? Odd lad. Quite brilliant in his own way, I daresay. It's a pity he isn't a more friendly sort – he could really go places if only he'd make the effort."

It had at least accounted for Snape's absence from the Slug Club. Horace was unlikely to cultivate someone who wouldn't go places. Once again, though, Snape seemed to have slipped through the cracks in places where he should have stuck and attracted attention. Gradually, she was developing a suspicion that Snape might, in fact, avoid undue attention.

That set off all kinds of alarm bells.

So she watched him like a hawk in class, on the lookout for the inevitable aftermath of the Shrieking Shack incident. It was not long in coming.

Two days after the incident, James Potter completely lost his ability to speak to girls. Any attempt to do so resulted not in intelligible words, but in unmistakable, disgustingly accurate flatulent noises. For the three days it lasted, Potter suddenly found himself completely unattractive to the fairer sex, which Minerva gathered was something of a new experience. No one was able to prove Snape had done it, though all the faculty had their suspicions. In the end, though, it was a harmless, if disruptive, prank.

The vengeance visited upon Black was much less so.

Nobody, Black included, was quite sure when it had begun. It only really became evident when he walked straight into a wall hard enough to leave a bruise half the length of his hand across his forehead. A long, frustrating visit to Madame Pomfrey determined that someone had hexed him to see things about two meters to the left of their actual location. Standard countercurses proved ineffective, and they were left with no real choice but to let it clear up on its own. It took nearly a week. Black had to be led around by a classmate at all times, which he found intensely humiliating, and sustained numerous bruises and several close calls with flights of stairs.

This prank amused Minerva much less than the one played on Potter. This one had the potential for causing real harm, and, unlike Black's similarly dangerous stunt in the Shrieking Shack, she thought that Snape was probably fully cognizant of the potential consequences of his actions. The idea was disturbing, to say the very least, and if she'd had even so much as a shred of proof of Snape's involvement, she'd have called him into her office for the most grueling detention of his school career and a stern discussion on long-term rewards of being the better man. But, once again, no one was able to implicate Snape.

Potter and Company, of course, were damned sure they knew who to blame.

The feud escalated sharply thereafter and the focus of the curses quickly shifted from humiliation to discomfort and pain. Snape and the Potter gang in turn broke out in boils, were covered in weeping sores, trembled and stuttered uncontrollably, lost the use of their hands or legs or eyes at unpredictable intervals, and became allergic to practically everything. Not a day went by without at least two people winding up hexed. Naturally, this all took place out of sight of anybody who could have reported the perpetrators to a professor. Minerva didn't believe this for one minute, but given the intensity and long-running nature of the conflict, and Gryffindor's general dislike of Snape and Slytherin, she was not particularly surprised. Horace Slughorn customarily adhered to a laissez-faire philosophy of House discipline, so there was no help forthcoming from that quarter.

Minerva's own response was to triple her vigilance in class and to crack down on discipline within Gryffindor Tower as hard as she could. She tightened the curfews and requested that Filch patrol more regularly in her domain. She was quick to punish even mild misbehavior, hoping to send the message that Real Trouble would have truly dire consequences. She subjected her House to a tersely delivered meeting in which she informed them that anyone caught hexing another student in any way, shape, or form would be immediately put on academic probation and suffer a punishment appropriate to the crime.

In the absence of any proof of guilt, she could not do more. She found it intensely frustrating, especially in light of her offer of assistance to Snape. If the boy would only swallow his damned pride and _say something_, she could put an immediate and definite end to the whole affair. She wished he would; quite frankly, the entire situation left a bad taste in her mouth. The behavior of her own students was nothing less than abominable, and her inability to control it rankled. More disquietingly, she once again had the feeling that nobody was paying enough attention to Snape. Where were his housemates in this? Where were his other professors? Where were the incensed parents writing angry letters to the school board? She realized that things were handled less directly in Slytherin, but she could not shake the sensation that the people who should be noticing Snape weren't.

Things worsened further over the next week. She was on the point of asking Albus for permission to lock all Gryffindor students' wands to perform only the spells explicitly permitted by a teacher, when the fight at last broke into the open.

Minerva was there when it happened. She had just released her Fifth Year class and was heading out the door to lunch. Ahead of her, Snape and the Troublesome Four had apparently reached the top of the staircase together by accident, pushed by the crowd. There was a moment of tense glaring, and then Black sneered something she could not hear and barked out a laugh. Behind him, Potter and Pettigrew jeered and hooted. Snape's face went white, and he hawked and spat into Black's face with impressive accuracy. At this point, Minerva let out a call for order and began to make her way through the throng of students with all the haste she could manage. It was not enough. Fury overtook Black's expression, and with a snarl, he stepped forward and shoved Snape hard. She saw Snape pitch over the edge of the landing, and heard a cacophonous series of thuds and clatters before a sharp crack and an ominous silence.

Minerva _shoved_ her way through the students to reach the head of the stairs. At the bottom, she could see Snape, belongings scattered around him, apparently unconscious. "Black, Potter, Pettigrew, and Lupin!" She was shouting, she knew it. "Give me your wands this instant!" Four lengths of wood clattered into her outstretched hand. "You four, get back in that classroom, sit yourselves down, and think on what just happened here until I come get you." Potter and Company, looking somewhat shell-shocked, headed back towards the empty Transfiguration classroom. Minerva scanned the crowd, searching for someone reliable, without a stake in the Gryffindor-Slytherin conflict."Mr. Finch, run and get Madam Pomfrey as quickly as you can."

Minerva hurried down the stairs. Up close, Snape looked even worse. He'd broken his nose in the fall, and his face was spattered in the gore. He was lying crumpled on the floor and his breaths wheezed a bit, but she was reluctant to move him without knowing what else he might have broken. A worried voice at her side startled her.

"Professor? Will he be all right?"

Lily Evans. She and Snape had been friends, hadn't they? Though they'd seemed much less close in the past couple of years. "I'm afraid I'm no mediwitch, dear. Madame Pomfrey will do everything she can." She wished she could say more.

"Oh." Evans stayed there, looking at Snape's body, head lowered. Minerva almost missed the hastily muffled sniffle. Poor girl.

"Miss Evans, why don't you collect his things to take to the infirmary?"

"Yes ma'am."

Evans set to her task, and Minerva, feeling remarkably useless, ordered the gawking students on their way, standing guard over Snape to prevent the incursions of the curious or the clumsy. In short order, there was a pounding clatter heralding the arrival of Poppy Pomfrey and young Finch, both breathing hard.

"Merlin! What's happened here?"

Minerva hurried through a brief explanation of events as Poppy set to work. Poppy made wordless outraged noises as she ran through her diagnostics, and, having finally decided on its safety, levitated Snape. Lily Evans, Snape's school books clutched in her arms, watched silently. Minerva caught Poppy's eye over her head.

"Miss Evans, you may go with Madam Pomfrey to assist, if she will allow it."

Poppy nodded. "Can you hold a warming charm, dear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Excellent. Then come along."

The weird procession exited the hall in the direction of the infirmary, frighteningly reminiscent of a funeral march, with Snape's body as the casket and Evans and Pomfrey as the bearers.

Minerva shook the macabre thought from her mind and felt the hot edge of anger settle back in. She turned and mounted the stairs back to the classroom to deal with Potter and Company.

* * *

**AN:** Still looking for a beta, if anyone's interested. Until I get one, all mistakes should be blamed only on me.

Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three: **

The four sat in a tense huddle at the far side of the classroom. Black was predictably scowling, but the others looked suitably subdued. Minerva paused a moment to take a firm grip on her temper before striding to her desk at the front of the room. She seated herself and motioned the four up the the desks directly in front of her.

"All of you. Up here."

They complied hastily, the chair legs squealing loudly on the floor in the otherwise quiet room. She waited a moment after they'd seated themselves, watching Lupin begin to fidget.

"Do any of you have anything to say for yourselves?"

"It was an accident!" exclaimed Black, still scowling mutinously. The others kept silent, but she thought she caught a wince from Lupin.

"Gentlemen, this is now the second time in less than a year that Mr. Snape has nearly died due to an accident of yours. These are not pranks or schoolboy rivalries – this feud between you has progressed to the point at which it legally qualifies as harassment and assault. It ends right now."

"Tell that to Snape! He started it!"

"I intend to talk to Mr. Snape once he has recovered from his injuries. Unfortunately," she continued in the most frigidly quelling voice she could manage, "Madam Pomfrey informs me that this may take the remainder of the week." This time, all four flinched in unison. "Gentlemen, I am severely disappointed in you." She gave that a moment to sink in before continuing.

"You will be confined to the dormitories for the next two weeks. Your classmates will bring you your classwork, which you will complete on time and in its entirety. I expect you to give some serious thought to what you've done. You in particular, Mr. Black. Each of you will write a _sincere_, _thoughtful_ letter of apology to Mr. Snape and to his parents. Needless to say, your parents will be hearing of this as well. Is that clear?"

There was a brief, subdued silence.

"Professor?" came a hesitant voice.

"Mr. Potter."

"May we have our wands back?"

Minerva was suddenly aware of the weight in her right pocket. She had almost forgotten about the wands. She hesitated momentarily. She certainly knew what she would like to do with them. The Headmaster would not approve.

_Albus be damned! These young idiots have almost killed another student! _

"No, Mr. Potter, your wands will not be returned on a permanent basis. You will be allowed access to them only under the supervision of myself or another professor in order to do your school work. They will be returned only when you have proven yourselves to be mature enough to be trusted with their use."

"You – you can't do that!" sputtered Black, slapping his hands down on the desk and turning positively vermillion. The sheer _lip_ of the boy undid the last shreds of Minerva's temper.

"Don't you take that tone with me, Mr. Black! Perhaps you haven't understood me. You four have just escaped suspension by the very skin of your teeth – the only thing that's saved you is the fact that I don't believe you intended serious harm to Mr. Snape. However, if he, or any other student, should have another accident like the two he's suffered this year, you may very well be facing expulsion!"

She caught her breath and managed to work her voice down to a reasonable volume before continuing.

"Frankly, young man, you've a long ways to go before I feel inclined n the slightest to return your wand."

All four were now silent, stone-still and sporting near identical expressions of creeping horror. Good.

"Now, if you have no more objections, you may use the floo in my office to transport yourselves directly to the dormitories. I will instruct Mr. Finch to bring you your schoolwork."

* * *

"How is he, Poppy?"

Snape, still unresponsive, lay flat on the bed at the far side of the infirmary. His nose had been repaired and the blood cleaned up. Lily Evans sat on a stool at the bedside, wand out, holding a warming charm with a fixed, tense concentration.

Madam Pomfrey frowned and let out a _whuff_ of breath as she adjusted one of her monitoring spells. "He's very, very lucky, is what he is. There's a great deal of bruising, of course. A few fractured ribs and some torn ligaments in the left shoulder. What concern me most are the head and neck injuries. He came within a hair's breadth of spinal damage – he's suffered a serious cervical strain, but luckily seems to have avoided displacement of the vertebrae or herniation of the disks. I don't like the fact that he's still out – the diagnostics are still pointing towards a severe concussion, but if he doesn't wake up in the next ten minutes, I'll need to bring him to St. Mungo's. Head trauma with prolonged loss of consciousness is nothing to sneeze at."

"Damn and blast," muttered Minerva. The anger was wearing off, leaving behind only a grey malaise. She felt old and tired and sick at heart. "Is there anything I can do?"

Poppy gave her a sharp glance out the corner of her eye, but answered with her usual crispness. "If you'd keep watch with Miss Evans, that would be most helpful. I'll call ahead to St. Mungo's in case we do need to bring him in. If he regains consciousness, try to get him talking and keep him awake until I get there."

"Certainly, Poppy." The mediwitch gave a brisk nod over her shoulder, already striding toward the hearth, followed by the faint hum of alarm spells. Minerva made her way to the side of the bed opposite Evans and drew up a stool.

Evans was pale and pinch-lipped, gripping her wand hard and apparently holding the warming charm with far more concentration than such an apt pupil should require. The awkward silence held for nearly a minute, both watchers focused on the unconscious patient. Evans broke it abruptly.

"I heard what Madam Pomfrey said," she gritted out. "He almost _broke _his _neck._"

"Luckily, he didn't," said Minerva, as soothingly as she could. "Likely, he's gotten off with just a concussion."

"But there's a chance it's more serious," stubbornly continued Evans. "Because of those _prats_ and their stupid pranks! They've been absolutely horrid to Sev this year, but I can't believe they did that!" Her voice had risen steadily throughout the monologue, and ended just barely under a shout. Minerva felt herself warm to the girl. Here at last was a piece of the support network that should have been acting on Snape's behalf. She wondered why the friendship had cooled: it was clear that Evans cared a great deal for Snape.

"It was an extremely thoughtless thing to do." Minerva winced internally. The phrasing was damnably close to Albus' judgement on the Shrieking Shack incident. "They are being punished, and will be on a very short leash for the rest of the year." She eyed Evans thoughtfully. "If, once their punishment is over, they should begin to harass Mr. Snape in any way, please inform me immediately."

Evans shot her a pleased, oddly gratified look (Merlin – could it really be true that no one had taken note of the situation before?), and nodded fiercely. "Yes, Professor." She hesitated. "Professor, do you think..."

At that moment, a chime erupted simultaneously from over the bed and from the far side of the room where Madam Pomfrey hovered over the fire. The latter straightened up abruptly and began a rapid progress towards them. On the bed, Snape opened his eyes and blinked, first slowly, and then several times in rapid succession. Evans practically leapt out of her seat to lean over the bed, her head directly over her friend's.

"Sev? Sev? Are you all right?"

Snape blinked again and squinted blearily."Lily? What are you doing here?"

"You idiot! Where else would I be? You just had a concussion!"

"Oh," said Snape, in a deadpan whose effect was somewhat ruined by the mumbling. "Is that what it is."

Minerva felt the corner of her mouth twitch upwards. "Mr. Snape. How are you feeling?"

A clear, though brief, expression of startlement crossed his face, and then his eyes darted to the side, tracking her voice.

"Professor McGonagall? What - "

At that point, Madam Pomfrey politely but inexorably pushed past Minerva. "Glad to see you awake, Severus. You gave us quite a scare." She turned to the others. "I'll need you two to step outside for a moment while I conduct some tests."

"Of course, Poppy." She exited the infirmary, Evans trailing in her wake. As she half turned to make for her office, she caught a glimpse of Snape watching her leave, wearing an odd, thoughtful expression.

* * *

**AN:** Thanks to everyone who's left reviews, and especial thanks to those who've offered criticisms. I really appreciate it.

Hope you enjoyed!


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four:**

Lily sat at the edge of her armchair in the quiet infirmary, watching Severus sleep and counting the minutes until she had to wake him. Madam Pomfrey had recruited her for the night watch. It had surprised Lily, who had thought that surely there were spells to cure concussion. Madam Pomfrey had explained that there were several, but that she usually felt it best not to interfere with the brain any more than needed.

"Unless it becomes absolutely necessary, we'll just keep him on supportive care for the next couple of days. You'll need to wake him every hour. If he won't wake up, or he seems confused or groggier than he should be, you cast that alert spell I showed you right away."

So here she sat at the bedside, hoping Sev would wake up his usual crotchety self. It was odd and a little disconcerting to see his face so still, completely without its usual alertness. Quietly, she cast Tempus. Five minutes left before she had to wake him.

Professor McGonagall had given her leave to spend the night at the infirmary without batting an eye, and had even excused her from her classes the next day. Which, now that she thought about it, was something of a puzzle. When had Professor McGonagall begun to take an interest in Severus? Had something happened? It must have. Previous spats between Severus and Potter's gang had passed largely unnoticed. But if the rumors regarding the Marauders' punishment were true, Professor McGonagall had certainly noticed this time. Of course, how could she not? But still, Lily was sure that she was not required to attend the sick bed of a student not even in her House. She had been there, though, and had seemed concerned for Sev, even worried, and firmly on his side.

She filed that thought away for further study and checked the time again.

What on earth was she going to say to Sev, anyway? They had been drifting apart for a while now. Sev had always been fascinated by any magics labeled "forbidden," and had spent a considerable portion of last year looking up spells that had set her teeth on edge. She had the queasy feeling that his interest was not strictly academic. It hadn't helped when those goons Avery and Mulciber had started following him around, either. She really, truly wanted to believe the best of him – Sev was her oldest, and for many years, her closest friend. But she'd heard so many unsavory things about that lot in Slytherin, and had seen for herself that many of them were bullies and bigots. And Sev seemed ready to fall right in with them.

She'd fought with him over it a few times – he could do so much better! Did he really think he needed to prove himself to that uptight snot Malfoy? But he was as stubborn as she was, and she'd reluctantly resigned herself to their increasing distance. She had her friends, and he had his, and it was clear that he intended to stick with his.

But now she had to wonder. Where were Avery and Mulciber, and why hadn't they yet beaten Potter and Black to bloody smears? Why had they allowed the harassment to continue in the first place? Sev's friends suddenly didn't seem much like friends at all.

Come to think of it, Sev had seemed curiously uninterested in his academic work lately as well. She could count on one hand the number of times she'd spotted him in the laboratory after hours this year, and the load of books she'd picked up after his fall had been oddly light and devoid of esoteric titles. In anyone else, she might have suspected a newfound, even a healthy, interest in the world outside the library, but for as long as she'd known him, Sev's psyche had been dominated by a lust for knowledge that bordered on the obsessive.

Lily eyed the bed and its occupant with frustration and increasing suspicion. Were things really all right with him? Sev had always been sneaky; it would be just like him to lie if he thought it would save his pride.

Another glance at the time.

"Sev? Come on, Sev, wake up for a minute."

To her relief, he roused easily. Unmistakably ill-tempered (as was usual when Sev didn't get enough sleep), but to all appearances alert and functioning.

"Now what is it?" he bit out sleepily to no one in particular before opening his eyes and rolling over to lever himself up on his elbows. "Lily? You're still here?"

"I can see you're delighted," she sniffed. "You're such a berk, Sev."

He threw her a glare, shrugged, and grumbled out, "It's a talent."

There was a short, awkward pause before Lily cleared her throat. "How are you feeling?" In answer, he shrugged again and glanced away.

"I've a headache."

Lily snorted. "I should think so! You can see all right, right? You're not dizzy or nauseous at all?"

He considered. "Slightly sick, but not terribly so. Lily, why are you here?"

"Honestly, Sev, don't you have any tact at all? Madam Pomfrey asked me to spend the night. I'm to wake you every hour. To hear you talk, it almost sounds as if you don't appreciate my sacrificing my well-deserved rest for you."

His mouth quirked upward and he seemed to relax a little, eyelids shuttering. "No, I don't mind you being here," he murmured. " It's just unusual."

Lily, her earlier thoughts still fresh in her mind, felt her heart seize. Delicately, she edged out the question, careful not to make her tone too sharp or her interest too obvious. "What do you mean, unusual?" Had he been a more frequent visitor to Madam Pomfrey than she'd thought?

Sev didn't appear to tense up, per se, but the sleepy air of relaxation was suddenly gone. He blinked his eyes and sat up a little straighter. "Nothing. Only odd that Pomfrey wouldn't just cure the concussion."

"Oh. She said she preferred to let brain trauma heal as naturally as possible."

Sev grimaced. "I suppose I should be grateful for that, at least."

There followed a brief, awkward silence. At last, Lily cleared her throat. "You should probably try to get back to sleep if you can. I have to wake you again in another hour."

He acquiesced without further ado, and Lily was once again left alone with her thoughts, this time to ponder his judgement of her presence in the infirmary as 'unusual.' Sev was a good liar, but Lily had known him a long time. Something was wrong.

*****

Minerva stopped in early at the infirmary to check on her charges. (When precisely, she wondered, had Snape become her charge?) Poppy met her at the door to assure her that all was well and that as of his morning check-up, Snape showed every sign of being on the road to recovery. Across the room, she could see Evans and Snape, both drawn-looking but awake. Evans was gesturing enthusiastically as she talked, while Snape slouched up against the headboard, looking thoughtful and interjecting the occasional comment. As she approached, the subject of the conversation became clear.

"I don't think it will work, Lily. The acidity of the yew bark will throw the whole thing off."

"Not if you keep the temperature high enough to break down the tannins."

Snape mulled this over and produced a grudging, "Maybe. You'll still have to deal with the reaction with the liverwort."

"Hmph. I still think we ought to try it once you're well."

At this point, Minerva thought it prudent to make her presence known, before they could say anything incriminating. Potions class had been a long time ago, but she could not recall brewing anything with yew bark and liverwort as a student. Perhaps she ought to have a chat with Evans, just to be on the safe side.

"Miss Evans, Mr. Snape. Good morning."

"Good morning, Professor," said Evans. Snape, eying her warily, gave a much more reserved, "Professor."

"How are you feeling, Mr. Snape?"

"Much improved. Thank you," he said, a little stiffly.

"Very good. Madam Pomfrey informs me that she hopes to release you at the end of the week. One of your classmates will bring you your classwork." Really, arranging this should have been Horace's job. Given Horace's laxity in monitoring the situation, however, Minerva felt perfectly justified in overstepping her responsibilities. Messrs. Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew, and Snape had all better hope young Finch paid attention in his classes.

"Thank you, Professor." Snape's face was now sharply interested. She doubted that he had missed the incongruity of the Gryffindor Head of House overseeing the affairs of a Slytherin student.

"You're quite welcome, Mr. Snape. It's good to see you looking so much better. You had us quite worried." His interested expression intensified considerably at that. "If you'll excuse us, I need to have a word with Miss Evans."

Evans nodded briskly and rose from her seat. "Certainly, Professor."

They paced to the infirmary's short entry hall, out of Snape's sight and hearing.

"Miss Evans, it was good of you to look after Mr. Snape. Madam Pomfrey has been very grateful for your help. I've spoken with your other professors about the work you've missed today. Your regular classwork will need to be made up as usual, but I will accept your Transfiguration essay at any time before Friday supper. Professor Slughorn has suggested that you and Mr. Snape pair up to do the lab you've missed today over the weekend as well."

"Thank you, Professor. I'm very grateful for all the trouble you've gone to, and I'm sure Sev is also."

"Nonsense, dear. I'm glad to see a student so willing to help a friend."

Minerva firmly quashed an acerbic internal comment on the quality of Snape's other friends, who had evidently not been so willing to help. _Now, Min, there's no reason to overreact. You don't know their circumstances. There's a time and a place for Gryffindor temper, and this isn't it._

But then Evans bit her lip anxiously before speaking up of her own accord.

"I'm happy to help. He's a good friend, but I'm worried about him."

"Worried?" Minerva queried delicately. "How so?"

Evans hesitated momentarily before continuing. "It's just little things, really. He hasn't said anything. But I don't think he's concentrating on his studies as much as he used to. And he says he's friends with that lot in Slytherin, but I don't think any of them have even tried to visit him."

So Evans also found Snape's apparent lack of allies worrisome.

"Perhaps they're just busy." Minerva couldn't seem to muster up a great deal of conviction in that suggestion.

"Maybe." Evans sounded as dubious as she felt.

Minerva sighed. Evans' suspicions paralleled her own growing unease all too well. "Thank you for telling me, Miss Evans. Please do let me know if you notice anything else. I will keep an eye out for Mr. Snape as best I can."

"Thank you, Professor."

She was about to dismiss Evans to finally get some sleep when she remembered the earlier overheard conversation between Evans and Snape.

"By the way, Miss Evans – this potion you and Mr. Snape were discussing earlier..."

Evans perked up instantly. "Oh! That! It's an idea Sev had last year for a sort of self-adapting potion."

Minerva's interest rose anew. Self-adapting magic was _definitely_ not covered in Horace's classes. "Self-adapting?"

"Yes – it has potential to treat a broad range of symptoms, like a cold-curing tonic. There's a seeking spell woven into the stirring pattern that determines which symptom is most urgent to treat and directs the potion's magic into giving it priority." Evans paused to sigh wistfully. "It's a very clever idea, really, but we haven't yet managed to make it fit for human consumption."

It was very clever. If Snape had come up with it on his own, Evans was entirely right in guessing that he hadn't been devoting his full concentration to his schoolwork.

"Is this entirely safe to work on?"

"Oh, yes, Professor. We checked with Professor Slughorn."

It _was_ good to see that Horace had not completely abandoned common sense. She would need to speak with him later. Snape's Potions record appeared to be much more interesting than she had initially guessed.

"Very good, Miss Evans. Now I suggest you retire to the dormitories and get some rest."

"Thank you, Professor."

Minerva watched Evans exit and sighed. The Snape boy grew more worrisome by the minute. Her own suspicions had been disquieting enough, but with those of Evans added to them, she was determined that she would need to take some sort of action. Somehow, she needed to have a frank chat with Snape to find out just what was going on and whether he needed help.

She stepped forward to peer through the doorway to the main part of the infirmary. Snape was still propped up against the headboard of his bed, a small, solitary figure in monochrome. Somehow, she did not think it would be an easy task.

*****

**AN: **Sorry this chapter's taken so long. It's been a hectic couple of months. Thanks for sticking with the fic - I really appreciate all the reviews and faves. (Especially you guys who've offered advice on how to make the story better. Many thanks!)

Hope you enjoyed!


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